You guys, I can’t even. Â I can’t even finish that sentence because what I just witnessed is so ridiculous to behold I’m not sure I even have the words to do it justice (or fulfill the length requirements for this post). Â Mariah Carey was released from the hospital after sustaining an injury or two on the set of her new music video (no, Nicki Minaj is not involved), and ohmygawd she hired someone to record it, edit it, give it an Instagram-y filter, and I don’t even know if the videographer is the same person who did her hair and makeup and hired a chauffeur for her limousine exit. Â Or maybe it was Nick Cannon, who probably had to learn to do all of those things prior to entering his marriage contract.
I remember each time I stumbled into the ER with a sprained ankle, a broken foot, a fractured elbow, a fractured wrist, and a broken tailbone (all separate incidents spanning approximately 8 years… I feel it’s important to mention this so a formal investigation of my parents doesn’t ignite), and I hired the Glamour Shots team from my local mall to capture my agony. Â The series of shots showing me sitting on a fluorescent blue hemorrhoid donut during six weeks in high school were particularly compelling and probably scored Glamour Shots some good ratings. Â (You can’t exactly get a cast on your ass bone, okay?)
“You know the people we see on TV? Â They’re professionals.” Â Yes. Â Professionally narcissistic. Also… do true professionals lip sync? BOOM. Â I love how the medical professionals in the background are trying to talk over her diary room narration with actual medical advice, and were not in fact holding the wind machine she probably purchased just for this occasion.
Looks like the St. Jude’s videos of small children battling severe forms of cancer with upbeat attitudes and genuine humility better take it up a notch!